To Make The Sun Shine Brighter
by Seroci
Summary: The world is a cruel place, as Oliver Wood finds out when he meets a young Russian werewolf who's hunted because of her curse. Though they cannot understand each other, he puts his life on the line to save her.
1. Prologue

A/N: We were studying economic systems in social studies, and this just hit me in the head. Who says great ideas don't come out of thin air? OK, so this isn't a _great_ idea, but it's an idea, and that counts for something. Right? 

Don't own nothin'. Nothin' but the clothes on my back and a few original characters. My "Mary-Sues" are _not_ to be taken, but why anyone would want them....okay, I'm confusing myself. Oliver Wood, sadly, does not belong to me. He's the property of Rowling and WB (Sean Biggerstaff......I honor you! *bows to Sean*). So lemme alone. But read my fic! Just lemme alone.   
  
  


**~To Make The Sun Shine Brighter~**   
***a Christmas story***

  
  
  
  
  


She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her entire body shook with shivers. The cold.....it was so cold. Her tears froze to her cheeks after only seconds of being exposed to the world. Gentle sobs made her shudder, and she pulled her thin, worn blanket around her. 

People passed on the streets, all clad in poorly made coats. None of them noticed the little girl huddled in the alley corner. She watched with large green eyes as each person passed her, hoping, wishing really, that one of them would see her, know her, tell her who she was. Tell her her name, where she came from, why she was alone. 

But no one noticed her, or even threw her a glance. Her sobs were quiet, as she had cried herself out weeks ago. The tears were normal for her, they had been on her face for almost as long as she could remember. 

" Little girl? Little girl?" 

The girl looked up eagerly. Someone was calling for her, they _had_ to know her! 

An old woman leaned close to the child, who was watching her with eager, pleading eyes. The woman held out a yellow flower. " Would you like to buy a flower?" 

The girl's hopes were shot in an instant. The tears started to flow again. 

" Oh, dear, don't you like yellow?" the old woman asked. 

" Ye-yellow's pretty," the girl whispered through shaky breaths. 

The old woman nodded. " Yes, it's the color of the sun." 

The sun. The girl hadn't seen the sun in days. She let her eyes wander up to the old woman, and she took the flower from her ice cold hands. " Thank you," she said softly. She hestitated, then handed the flower back. " I've go-got n-nothing to pay you w-with-" 

The woman's eyes were soft and blue, understanding. " That's okay. We all need a smile sometimes." She blew the girl a kiss. " The good Lord loves you....uh...." 

" Baialyn," the girl whispered. " I'm called Baialyn." 

" The good Lord loves you, Baialyn." The woman smiled sweetly. " You have a very pretty name." 

A smile crept on the girl's face as she held the flower close to her heart. It faded not long after the old woman left. The girl's tears fell onto the flower's petals, rolling off them, freezing before they hit the ground.   
  


A/N: This chapter is short, I know, but it's like the prologue. Okay, so it _is_ the prologue. The rest of the story will be from either Oliver's POV or Baialyn's. I hope to keep this one going, if nothing else continues. If I break this promise, hit me, okay? 


	2. Chapter One

A/N: Continued. *nods* This chapter will be longer, as all chapters will be (or should be) longer. This one's from Oliver's POV. That it be, yepslies. There'll also be only a _little_ bit of speaking. A lot is gestures and all that nice stuff. I go into heavy descriptions, because I need the story to be about _something_. *sigh* Okay, anyways...... 

See prologue for disclaimer. I dun want to say more than I have to.   


  


**~To Make The Sun Shine Brighter~**   
***a Christmas story***

  
  
  
  


I never thought Russia could be so.....cold. England was cold, it was winter, but there was something about Russia that made my skin tingle. I blew into my hands, rubbed them together. My shoulders screamed under the weight of what luggage I carried. I had to come on broom; I wasn't comfortable Apparating such a large load. It was a long flight, and I wasn't sure Russia was worth the journey. For one thing, it downright smelled. Factories billowing out toxic wastes, people brushing past who looked like they'd never seen a bath in their entire lives. 

I shifted my bags onto the other shoulder. The weight never seemed to leave no matter what I did with it. I groaned as I started walking. Had I been able to Apparate, this would be a lot easier. Apparation wasn't allowed in the hotel I staying at; strict rules laid out by the Ministry. The walk wasn't long, I'd judged my landing pretty well, but with each step I took, the looming building seemed farther away then ever. 

A younger boy ran past me, carrying a broom and a red ball under his arm. I smiled. The event, I guess, was big. It had to be if it appealed to a boy that age. I was the only player from Hogwarts attending, though, as far as I knew. None of my old teammates had been able to make it. The Weasley's were grounded, and literally grounded, as they were rooted to their bedroom floor, fed by their mum and pants wet. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia were all on a trip to America for one reason or another, and Harry's family wouldn't let him come to Russia. I couldn't say I wasn't happy I was the only Hogwarts student there; I was sure glad Flint had decided to stay behind. 

I pushed the front door open, left the cold. Warm air greeted me. I breathed it in happily, warming my frozen lungs. 

" A little nip in the air?" An older witch turned her smile on me. 

I smiled politely. " Only a little." 

She cocked her head at me, and asked in a pure Japanese accent, " You're Scottish, aren't you?" 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Was it a long trip?" 

I shrugged. " Kind of." 

She sighed when her eyes rested on my load. " Really, you think they'd whip up something to take the weight off your shoulders." She scuttled towards me, reaching for my bags. " They all say you're a strong generation, and all us ancients Apparate, so there's no need for a spell like that." Her shaking hands pulled off a heavy bag of mine, and the weight almost took her off her feet. 

I reached for her, steadied her. " It's all right, I've got it." 

" Nonsense." She let the bag go. " Sweet mother of Jesus, this place used to have some service. Hold on a minute." She extracted a black wand from her pocket, summoned the service bell. With an uneven movement, she slapped the bell twice. 

A Russian usher appeared at our sides. He bowed to the old witch, then to me. The woman began speaking to him in Russian rapidly, and the usher nodded sheepishly and began to collect my things. 

" You know Russian?" I asked. 

She laughed lightly, as if my question was a joke. " There isn't a language on the face of this planet I don't know!" Her face wrinkled beneath her broad, grandmother-like smile. " Are you here, by chance, for the Quidditch Retreat?" 

I nodded. " Yes." Somewhat quickly, I held my hand out to her. " I'm Oliver Wood, former captain of the Hogwarts Gryffindor Quidditch team." 

" Hogwarts?" She shook my hand. " That's a good school, a good school indeed." Shakily, she patted my arm. Her eyes grew wide and she gripped my bicep. " My dear, what position did you play to get such an arm?" 

I blushed as she withdrew. " I was the Keeper." 

" A mighty swell Keeper?" she asked, nodding. 

I shrugged. " I guess." 

She sighed and looked about her. " I remember when I was young enough to play Quidditch. It was like heaven, being so high in the air." She shook her head. " But silly me, I took a Bludger to the hip a few years back and suddenly I'm old and unable to play." 

" Where were your Beaters?" I asked. 

" Oh, any old place." The witch waved her arm towards the sky. " They were mostly centered on our Keeper. I, uh, don't quite remember his name....he was always a favorite target for the Bludgers." She eyed me. " You would know that?" 

I chuckled lightly. " Yeah. A little too well." 

" Have you....graduated from....was it Hogwarts?" 

I nodded again. " Last year." 

" Do you know what you're going to do with your life?" 

" This and that. I'm hoping to get a spot on the Puldemere United." 

She laughed. " They are a good team, aren't they?" With another sigh, she turned her head. " Dear me, my age has caught up with me. My legs aren't what they used to be." 

" Do you need to sit down?" I asked. 

" Oh, that would be nice." 

I took her arm, led her slowly to a cushioned bench. The cushion was torn, the bench was metal and rusting, but it was the most luxurious seat around. 

" These benches...." The woman patted the bench lightly. " They used to be a lot better. More comfy." 

I sat next to her. " Why don't they keep this place up?" 

" Oh, Russia's fallen into a bit of despair. Depression, depression, recession. The Muggles seem to be affecting our world, don't they?" She chuckled again. " Still, our places are much better than some of the Muggle places. Taken over by beer and prostitutes, I tell you, these folk could learn something about the English way....oh, you're Scottish, aren't you?" 

I shrugged. " Close enough." 

" Japan could also learn something from the English. Overcrowded, we are. Not a speck of privacy, not one! You have to travel to the center of the country if you want to use magic; everyone sees you everywhere else you go. That's why we don't have Quidditch games there. Muggles can see them, no matter how bewitched it is." She crossed her legs. " Now America, that's a country well worth seeing. The Muggles are smarter, still dumb, but they're not overriden with people or depression. And up north, it's just beautiful." Her eyes fell on me. " Do you know how wonderful it is to fly up with the Northern Lights?" 

I shook my head. 

" Oh, it's just pure miracles! Up where you see them.....oh dear, my memory's going, I can't remember the name....but it's real cold up there, and there's almost not a soul around. Some of the largest Quidditch stadiums are up there. As a matter of fact, if I remember correctly, it's not too far from the northeastern tip of Russia. Almost touching....doesn't take long to fly across the ocean at all....I wouldn't even call it an ocean, it's so small." She tapped my knee. " Well, I'm sure they've got your room set." 

" Actually, I was thinking of sight seeing," I told her. 

She nodded in understanding. " Do you travel much?" 

" I wish." 

The woman smiled and patted my back. " Be sure you take care of your back. That load could really hurt in the morning." 

" Thanks." 

I walked away from her, waved behind me lightly as I opened the doors of the hotel. The bitter wind welcomed me once again, an old friend that kept knocking and wouldn't leave. I cursed at it under my breath, pulled my robes closer to my body. The snow fell heavily, clung to my dark robes. It covered many of the beggars sitting on the sidewalks, or what were sorry excuses for sidewalks. They all looked up at me, all the beggars, and held out their hands, speaking in a language I didn't understand. I knew what they wanted, it was written all over their faces. They wanted money, my money. My money was no good to them. 

I averted my eyes, avoided seeing the beggars at all costs. It felt like a knife twisted my heart each time one looked at me with pleading hope and I had to turn them down. Not only down, but I couldn't even speak to them. They wouldn't understand a word I said, there was no point to even trying to talk to them. If I just didn't look at them, just kept my eyes up and forward. 

A boy ran into me, pushing me to the ground. He rolled off and stood, glanced down at me, then began speaking rapidly in apologies. His breath was fast and his voice trembling. I smiled to silence him, showed him I was all right by rising and dusting myself off. He nodded quickly, if that, and started to run again, leaping over an old, bent fence. 

I shook my head, stuck my hands in my robes again. I had come unprepared, unready for what Russia had to throw at me. My fingers would be ice by the time I returned to the hotel. Then again, I liked it better outside than in the building. The building felt a little like a prison, looked like a prison. The managers had to be trying for luxury, and maybe that _was_ luxury compared to other housings, but they were failing miserably. Couldn't blame them, though. With what they had to work with, and even with magic on their side, you couldn't come up with much. 

An old woman tapped my shoulder, held a yellow flower out to me. She was smiling hopefully. Her empty hand extended slowly, shaking, horribly white from the cold. Her eyes watched me, pleading, and in inaudible Russian began to ask questions. I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders. How was I going to get her to understand that I couldn't speak her language? When I spread my arms, revealing my sore skin to the wind, she nodded, and her hopeful smile left her face. She turned to hobble away, pulling her torn shawl tighter around herself. Then she turned around, handed me the flower again. She nodded, no longer speaking. I took the flower gently in my hands, smiled at her in thanks. She nodded again, waving at me, and turned to limp to another man. I twirled the flower between my fingers, then took my wool scarf in my hands, removed it from my shoulders, jogged up to the woman. Gently, I tapped her shoulder, held my scarf out to her. She shook her head, turned around again. I walked around to stand in front of her, put the scarf around her neck, bundled it close to her neck. With my hands I kept her from taking it off, walked away slowly when I was sure she had accepted it. She waved at me, called out to me, speaking the same word over and over again, I think maybe in thanks. 

I wrapped my robes closer around my neck, which had been protected by the scarf. My mum had given me that scarf before my dad and I moved to London. I think, had she been here, she would have understood why I had given it away. That old woman, I couldn't let her walk away freezing. 

I looked down at the flower in my hands. It wasn't the prettiest flower. It was wilting, the petals drooped, the yellow was sallow, a sickly color, and the petals had brown, wrinking edges. The stem was a rotting green and crisp, but solid because it was frozen. Still, beautiful or not, the woman had to make some sort of living, if you could call that a living. Begging, selling dead flowers. The poor woman. 

A snowball hit my shoulder. I stopped walking, looked to my side, where the snowball had come from. Three boys, two of them not much younger than me, and a small one, were packing snowballs. The tallest one stopped when he saw me look over at them. He said something to the other two, waved at them to drop the snowballs. With confident steps, he walked up to me. I was a good deal taller than he was, by about a foot, perhaps a little less. Still, undaunted by my size, he stepped up to me, looked me in the eye, head tilted back slightly. He grined a forced grin, pointed over my shoulder. I hesitated in looking behind me for fear of a trick, but when he pointed again, I looked over my shoulder slowly. 

There, curled up against a brick wall, was a girl with long, raggy brown hair. Her face was tearstained, her eyes yellow. Those eyes, they hated everything they saw. They rested upon me, kept themselves locked on my own eyes. I shivered uncomfortably. 

The boy said something as I turned back to him. Then he reached down and picked up a handful of snow, chucked it at the girl. The snowball hit just above the girl's head. The girl looked up, snarled with a set of sharp teeth. The boy laughed, chucked another snowball at it. It hit her in the side of the face. She remained still, only glaring at us. A single tear traced its way silently down her face, dripped onto the snow. Again, the boy laughed, made to throw another snowball at her. I grabbed his wrist, held it tightly in my iron grip. The amusement on the boy's face drained away. 

" Don't," I hissed. I didn't care that he couldn't understand me. 

The boy struggled to get away from my grip. I twisted his wrist, pointed to the girl, shook my head firmly. He nodded vigorously, tried to pull away again. The fear was in his eyes, it was evident in the way he started muttering pleas to me. I shoved him into the snow, threw a glare to the two other boys. They helped their comrade up, ran. 

I turned back to the girl, walked over to her, crouched. " They're gone," I told her. 

Her yellow eyes bore into me and she scooted away. I reached out to her. She swatted my hand away. 

" Nice to meet you, too," I muttered. I slipped out of my robes, stood in a tight sweater and Quidditch pants. Slowly, I draped the robes over her. They covered her like a tent. She had no objection to my action. She actually took the robes from me and wrapped them tightly around herself. The hate in her eyes died down a little, and I relaxed. But those eyes, those eyes......so much like Lupin's....I cleared my throat, pointed to myself. " Oliver." 

Her eyes traveled up and down my body. I repeated my name again, pointed to myself again. Then she whispered in a heavy Russian accent, " Ol...iver." 

I nodded. " Oliver." Then I pointed to her. 

" Baialyn," she muttered softly. She tapped her chest softly. " Baialyn. Baialyn." 

" Baialyn," I repeated. 

She nodded. 

" Baialyn." Her name sounded good coming out of my mouth. I repeated her name over and over, brushing a few locks of dirty brown hair behind her ears. 

" Oliver," she said. " Oliver." 

I ran my fingers through her knotted hair, combed my way through the tangles, hit a crisp flower. It fell from her hair, floated slowly on the winter breeze, landing gently on the snow. Baialyn reached out with a small hand and took the flower. She tried putting it back in her hair, but it fell to the ground with each attempt. I took it, stuck it behind her ear, then showed her mine. Her mouth opened in surprise and she reached for her flower, took it and held it in front of her face. Then she grabbed mine, held it next to hers. 

" Oliver," she said. 

" Baialyn," I answered. 

She looked up at me with her yellow eyes, all hate gone, replaced by wonder. Slowly, she stood, letting my robes slip from her shoulders. She put my flower behind my ear, handed me hers, pointed to her ear. I slid her flower into her hair, just behind her ear, then sat her down, wrapping the robes around her again. She sat closer to me, allowed me some of the robes. 

" Thanks," I whispered. 

" Oliver," she answered.   
  


A/N: A really crappy first chapter. I dunno when I'll write more, but soon! Hopefully....I have a bad habit of breaking promises about writing chapters when and why and how and whatnot, so......buh-bye. Review? 


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